


Dimensions of Human Interaction

by annchi



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Speed Dating, geek PSAs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:25:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annchi/pseuds/annchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While tracking one of their clients, Finch is trapped in an uncomfortable situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dimensions of Human Interaction

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Hurt/Comfort Bingo's "stranded/survival scenario" prompt and posted here because I failed out of that challenge. No beta reader, so reader beware.

Reese peered at the video feed and frowned. He tapped his earpiece but Finch cut him off with a "Just a moment, Mr. Reese," and ended the call. Reese tapped it again to switch lines and this time made sure he was the first to speak.

"What's going on in there, Zoe?"

"A little social event, John, nothing to worry about." 

He could hear the smirk in her voice and, sure enough, when he angled the camera to get a closer look Zoe was grinning impishly over a glass of white wine.

"Why are you at the bar, and what the hell is Finch doing?"

"He's keeping a close eye on your client. She's probably already seen me, remember? Wouldn't want to draw any attention before we know for sure what's she's up to." On his screen, Zoe took a sip of her drink and scanned the room. "Your rules, John. And speaking of rules, why is your partner doing the legwork tonight? I thought I was here to meet you."

"Change of plan." 

Reese shifted in his seat and winced, then bit back a curse when he had to dodge an elbow. "Watch it, Lionel."

Fusco leaned forward and adjusted the audio to filter out more background noise from the crowded bar and shrugged. "My bad, but this van is cramped. You'd think you guys would go in for something bigger than a can of cat food."

Reese took a breath and held it for a ten count. He'd fielded similar complaints from Fusco every five minutes since they started to tail Louise Fletcher, the woman Finch and Zoe were supposed to be watching inside, where he would much rather be tonight. But Reese had sprained his ankle earlier that week -- not badly, but he and Finch decided that he should stay off it for as long as possible, just in case it limited his mobility in a fight. 

Right on cue, Finch's voice sounded in his ear. "Mr. Reese? I've got Ms. Fletcher covered in here, but I don't see anyone who might represent Elias. How's the ankle?"

"Ankle's fine, Finch. What's going on in there? It looks like you're lining up for square dancing."

"Um. I'm not quite sure --" 

On the screen, people were indeed lined up, men on one side, women on the other, but there was no room for dancing. Instead, a smiling woman with a clipboard and -- was that a bell? -- directed them to file in on either side of a row of two person tables and sit. Harold, who was visibly twitchy despite the amount of noise in the grainy security feed, did as he was told. 

A few seats down on the opposite side, Louise Fletcher did the same. Whatever was going on, at least it would keep her in one place for a while.

Fusco snorted. "Oh man, he's so screwed. You're lucky you're in here with me, my friend."

There was a pop of feedback and Carter's voice joined in. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Reese said. "No movement yet, and no threat that I can see."

"Says you," Fusco said, at the same time Finch said, "Mr. Reese, I might need some help, I think this is --" and the woman with the clipboard said, "Welcome to Eight Minute Dates!"

*

"You'll have to pardon me, Miss Jones, when I'm caught unawares I tend to display an unusually flat affect."

There was a long pause while Miss Jones, a.k.a. Caroline, a sales manager from Brooklyn, attempted to parse that.

"I see," she said finally. "You're nervous?" 

She was on the edge of her seat, purse still clutched in one hand. Her knuckles were turning white; she'd been holding that position for almost seven minutes and was starting to show the strain.

"He's freaking them out," said Fusco. "Hey, loverboy," he tapped his phone and, on the screen, Finch jumped and nearly fell out of his seat. "Knock it off, you're freaking them out."

Reese put a hand on Fusco's forearm and squeezed. "You knock it off, Lionel."

Fusco twisted out of Reese's grip and scowled. "Just trying to help, he's not exactly low profile in there. Jeez."

Reese shook his head slowly, then rolled it from side to side to try and work out the kinks in his neck. He'd tried to help too, at first. Just pretend you're doing an interview, he told Finch. And: it's only eight minutes, let them do most of the talking. 

What Reese and the inventors of speed dating hadn't anticipated was the inability of someone like Finch to answer a direct question with an incomplete response, especially when he was under stress. The fact that he had to make up most of the answers just made it worse. It was as if, without time to prepare one, Finch was compelled to construct a solid cover identity _while they watched_. 

It boggled the mind.

Caroline from Brooklyn popped up like her seat was on fire and a tall brunette took her place. It was like watching Finch swim through shark-infested waters, Reese thought. Well. Waters infested with sharks that could wound with indifference and a hasty rejection rather than teeth and tail, but still.

"I hope you're enjoying this, Zoe."

"The point is to keep an eye on Fletcher, John. I don't see the problem."

From her position at the bar, Zoe had eyes on all the players and both exits, while Finch was never more than ten feet from Fletcher. So they had the room covered, and Reese had to admit that Zoe was probably onto something: speed dating was a plausible cover for a dead drop. Fletcher might meet one of Elias's contacts here, most likely near the end of the event. And if that was true, they had it all on tape and Carter in the parking lot just waiting to make an arrest.

He still didn't like it. 

"No problem, but I'd rather your positions were reversed."

On camera, Zoe ran a hand through her hair. "Careful, you might hurt my feelings, John. Besides, I hate these things."

Reese watched as Finch folded and refolded his scorecard while the woman across from him played with her phone.

"After tonight I don't think your friend'll be a fan either," Fusco said.

Zoe cleared her throat. "Well, I think he's _trying_ to strike out completely. _'Why is a manhole cover round?'_ Who asks that ever, let alone on a date? Who cares?"

"Someone like Finch would care," Reese said. He had grown accustomed to the way Finch and Fletcher's group stood and switched seats at regular intervals, and for a second he thought they lost Fletcher, but there she was, in the hot seat across from Finch. Reese turned up the volume on his audio channel when they introduced themselves. "Or I might, seeing as the question isn't about knowing the right answer, it's about understanding how a person thinks and how creative they can be."

"I thought manhole covers were round because the holes are round," Fusco said. 

Reese smirked.

"Trying to impress me, Lionel?"

"Yeah, whatever, you know you wanna put a ring on it."

There was a pointed sigh and Carter spoke up. "Guys, can we keep the channel clear? I can't hear anything from the bar through all this chatter."

"Sure thing," Fusco said. "You only wish you were in the van."

"Or that you knew why manhole covers are round," Zoe said.

"Please," said Carter. "They're round because round casings are much easier to machine using a lathe. Cuts the cost of labor so the city saves money."

Fusco barked out a laugh. "You look that up on google?"

"What, I'm a woman so I can't know anything about engineering? I was in the Army."

"Then what's a casing," Zoe asked.

There were three short pops on the line and Finch's voice cut in.

"Mr. Reese, Detectives, Ms. Morgan? I hate to put an end to such a fascinating conversation, and I do mean that literally, but I believe Ms. Fletcher is up to something. We were talking and she left very suddenly." 

Reese stood, as much as he was able to in the van, and refocused the video feed. Finch was on his feet, scanning the room. Zoe slipped off her seat at the bar and did the same.

"I bet she made a break for the ladies'. I'll check it out."

"Be careful, Ms. Morgan, she could be meeting her contact there."

But Fletcher wasn't in the ladies room. A quick search confirmed that she hadn't gone back to the bar, either. 

"I didn't see a car leave," Carter said, and swore. "If she left she must have been on foot."

"Probably met her contact out on the street. Carter, did anyone else in the bar leave before she did?"

"Yeah, but they were all coupled up. I thought you were tracking her cell phone."

The van's sliding door opened and Finch climbed in; a moment later Zoe claimed the passenger seat.

"We are, detective. But the signal is intermittent, like it's having trouble connecting," Finch said.

Reese edged closer to Finch to get a better look at his phone and squinted at the display. "She has an old phone, might have some trouble updating the GPS, and being in a fast moving car would make it worse. Lionel?"

Fusco was already in the driver's seat, and pretty soon the van peeled out of the lot and into traffic.

*

It didn't take long to find Fletcher, even with the unreliable GPS. And as expected, the people with her had guns and training. By the end of the evening everyone was riding high on adrenaline and Reese's ankle had long ago gone numb, but the bad guys were down or scattered to the wind and their client was still alive.

"Have I mentioned how much I appreciate an armored van, Finch?"

"This one has seen better days, Mr. Reese," Finch said, and nodded at the impressive number of bullet holes along the van's sliding door. 

"Engine's dead, too," said Fusco.

"Ah, well, we hardly knew ye," Reese said, and patted the door. He looked across the street to where Louise Fletcher was being handed into an unmarked police car by Carter and one of the uniforms that had been called to the scene. "But I'd say it served its purpose."

"Next time get something bigger." Fusco paused. "Hey, how're we gonna get back?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way, Lionel."

Fusco rolled his eyes and wandered off to help Carter, and Reese turned to survey the scene.

It was only just dawn and it would be almost impossible to catch a cab in the neighborhood where they had finally cornered Fletcher and her contacts. Who _had_ been working for Elias, foot soldiers in the escalating conflict between his people and what was left of HR. 

Fletcher had been a pawn, scared to death, pressured by a brother who was unlucky enough to do time in the same cell block as Carl Elias. She was only one of Elias's go-betweens and messengers were always expendable. Elias had sent Fletcher to his men with a message that included orders to kill her. Ostensibly as payback for her brother's anger and insubordination, but Reese figured it was a complicated demonstration of power meant to show his people that he was still able to keep them in line from Inside. But it hadn't worked, Fletcher was on her way to protective custody, and they were that much closer to crippling Elias's organization for good. It gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling.

"What are you smiling about, John?" 

"Zoe. I thought you would be on your way home."

She shifted from foot to foot and looked at him. "Just wanted to see how things turned out."

"Yes," Finch said. "Thank you for your help, Ms. Morgan. Your insights into Ms. Fletcher's social life were invaluable."

"No problem, Harold. I hope your evening wasn't too terrible."

Finch surprised Reese when he swallowed what would have been a genuine laugh.

"I have to admit I was somewhat disconcerted by the experience. Trying to get to know a stranger in just a few minutes might be an exciting process for some, but not for me. I doubt I'll try it again."

Zoe didn't try to hide her grin. 

"That's probably for the best."

"I don't know, Finch." Reese moved closer to the other man until their shoulders touched. "Our first date lasted only a few minutes and you made an impression, and after our second date I was hooked."

"Uh-huh, and what did he do on your 'second date'?"

"Kidnapped me and tied me to his bed."

Zoe coughed and Finch turned slightly pink.

"Well, no, that's not quite," Finch stammered. "For one thing it was the hotel's bed, and there were extenuating --"

Reese smiled. Across the street, Carter and Fusco had stopped whatever they'd been doing to stare.

"You guys know we're still on open comms, right?" Carter said.

Finch hastily tapped his earpiece. Reese raised an eyebrow and did the same.

"Goodnight Ms. Morgan, Detectives," Finch said, and turned on his heel toward the open mouth of an alley.

"'Night, Zoe," Reese said. "Thanks again."

"Hey," she said, hands on hips, though Reese could tell she was more amused than frustrated. "I guess a ride home is too much to ask?"

Reese nodded to where Fusco had commandeered a squad car. 

"Use the buddy system."

*

"Finch," Reese called out. 

Up ahead, Finch limped steadily away from Reese, his posture rigid and annoyed. 

"Harold!" Reese tried again.

That got a response. Finch slowed, and Reese caught up to him in a few long strides.

"Yes, Mr. Reese?"

"Nothing, just. Wait up."

Finch harrumphed and started forward again.

Reese slowed his stride to match his friend's and put his hands in his pockets. The city was still asleep, for the most part, and the streets were clear of traffic. They were the only pedestrians.

"Something the matter?"

"No, no. It's been a long night." Finch looked sidelong at Reese. "I suppose I'm tired."

Reese shrugged and turned his attention to the street. Activity was minimal and their enemies had most likely retreated to lick their wounds, but you never knew what to expect from Elias's people. Best to stay alert.

"Are you going to walk with me all the way back to the Library, Mr. Reese?"

"Unless you have a better idea, like calling the car."

"No," Finch's upper body twitched a negative. "I'm enjoying the fresh air. That bar tonight was stifling, not to mention all the time I spent in the van. What _had_ Detective Fusco been eating?"

Reese swiped a hand over his face. "Corn nuts. Never again."

That surprised a snort out of Finch.

"And I thought I would have given my eye teeth to trade places."

Reese bit his tongue and tried to think of something to say. He wasn't normally someone who needed to fill silences, and maybe it was a sign of how tired he was, but he wanted to keep this conversation going. Would he learn something crucial about Finch if he did, or something inane? It didn't matter. He just wanted to hear it.

"So," he said at last. "Why _are_ manhole covers round?"

Finch let slip a little smile and paused for half a step. "As you surmised, Mr. Reese, it isn't getting the right answer that matters, but the way the question is answered. The reasons I heard from Detectives Carter and Fusco were correct, and there are more and varied correct answers."

"So you heard everything they were saying?"

Finch didn't answer. Reese rolled his shoulders and tried again.

"How would you answer the question, Harold?"

"In eight minutes or fewer?"

Reese nodded and slowed his pace even more when Finch did. That warm, fuzzy feeling was back. 

"It's not the manhole cover's shape that I would focus on." He waved a hand. "Oh, I'd mention something about the natural durability of the shape in relation to the openings they cover, but the main thing we should find fascinating about manhole covers is how permanent and fixed they are." He smiled at Reese and rubbed his hands together. "Come here."

Reese followed him out into the middle of what would normally be a very busy street and to, predictably, a manhole cover.

"Look, Mr. Reese. There's no telling exactly how long this has been in place. Well, we could look at city records, but the point is that it will stay here despite construction, most road work, heat waves, fires, floods, observable erosion, _time_. And each one is unique, or becomes that way -- they're individuals, just like people. Do you see?"

Reese had to admit that he did not.

Finch crouched over the cover and brushed a hand across its surface.

"Dented, pitted, and worn. As individual as a human fingerprint." Finch squinted up at Reese and beckoned him down. Reese dropped into an obedient squat and let his fingers trail along the edges of the manhole cover. 

"It's like a fingerprint, and it's permanent." Reese took a moment to consider the implications and frowned. "So we can use it to verify location?"

Finch beamed at him. "Exactly. If the car Ms. Fletcher traveled in tonight had been equipped with GPS and a database of topographical information that included all the manhole covers on the island of Manhattan, it might have scanned this cover and we could have used it to pinpoint her location much more accurately than we were able to with satellite positioning."

Reese considered the manhole cover. "That's ... pretty neat, Harold."

"Sadly, the technology doesn't exist yet."

Sadly, Reese thought, and almost lost his balance. They bumped knees and Finch started to fall backward, but Reese caught him by the elbow and hauled them both to their feet. Reese let go reluctantly and looked down at his hands.

"It adds another dimension to things, doesn't it?"

"What does," Reese asked.

Finch shrugged and turned to face the sunrise. 

"The potential in all the little things we take for granted, I suppose."

Reese supposed it did. He took Finch's elbow again and urged them both forward.


End file.
